Understanding
by FindingFlight
Summary: Angst and heartache ensue when Rory returns from Washington. R/J NEW Chapter 5 is up! HERE IT IS! THE BIG CONFRONTATION! Tears, angst, joy...bring it on! Please R/R!
1. You Can't Go Home Again

Understanding  
  
I turned my head slightly and knew -- even before I knew - that the image before me would be of Jess wrapped in the arms of another girl. I knew it was so even before I fully registered my surroundings and drank in the sight of his faded jeans and concert T-shirt, his scuffed boots and scratchy hands. I knew it in some dark, unused corner of my mind, just as I had known - and denied and pushed to the back of my consciousness - all summer that this is what I would find when I returned to Stars Hollow from Washington.  
  
Because, simply, Jess isn't Dean. He wouldn't wait. He wouldn't understand why I had kissed him and run away to DC without talking to him. Why I hadn't called. And if he couldn't have me to read with, then he would find someone else to kiss with. Maybe to dull the ache or prove a point or maybe because he honestly didn't give a shit.  
  
My vision clouded a bit, and I didn't know whether it was tears that blurred my vision, or whether my body and heart and eyes had simply stopped working, now that the ugly future that I had spent a summer anticipating and trying to forget was staring me in the face. Mom kept talking, something about poodles - isn't there a cute joke of ours about poodles? I can't remember. There is no sound and no understanding - only a blue-gray fog and a silence that hurts my ears. 


	2. Watching Each Other From a Distance

I lay on my bed, not thinking, not seeing. I try not to care, but the weight on my chest and the fire in my stomach tell me that I am failing miserably.  
  
The entire walk home from the fair was filled with my mother's usual witty observations and amusing anecdotes. I didn't hear a word she said. She is so happy to have me back, that I'm not sure she noticed our disconnect.  
  
"Rory?" she calls softly from the door of my bedroom. "What's the matter?"  
  
OK. She noticed.  
  
I shake my head, too broken to talk.  
  
"Rory, you haven't managed to string together two words since we went into town. What's going on?"  
  
"Nothing," I manage.  
  
"Ah, see. That was only one word. Heh, heh. . . ." She's trying.  
  
"Sorry," I respond. I'm not trying.  
  
"Look, Rory." Why is she being gentle? She should be horribly mean. Because I've been horribly confusing. "You've been gone all summer. And you had quite an experience while you were away. So it's completely natural that you'd need a little time to readjust to Stars Hollow. To get used to being back here with me, and - "  
  
"I kissed Jess."  
  
Nothing.  
  
"At Sookie's wedding. Before the wedding, actually. I grabbed him and kissed him."  
  
Silence.  
  
"And today he was there - " I stop, unwilling to describe the scene that greeted me today at the fair. I don't need to describe it. My head is filled with it. God, I'm numb.  
  
" - with Shane," my mother finishes for me.  
  
I turn to her for the first time, my face blank. "Is that her name?"  
  
My mother nods wordlessly and clutches the doorframe tighter. "It's better this way, Rory. I know that Jess seems exciting and rebellious, but Shane is better for him. More his. . . ."  
  
"His type?"  
  
She hesitates because that doesn't sound very politically correct. But her fear of Jess being anywhere within a 10-mile radius of me pushes her forward. "Yes. More his type."  
  
I look at her curiously, from a great distance away. I wonder how we went from two bodies that shared one brain to this - a daughter trying to live her life and a mother terrified of a bad-boy full of sperm. When did this happen? When did we become. . . typical?  
  
She's nervous under my gaze.  
  
"What?" she asks.  
  
I shake my head again.  
  
She shifts tactics. "What about Dean?"  
  
Ah, yes. Dean. Her trump card when it comes to encouraging me to stay away from Jess.  
  
"I don't know," I reply honestly. "I don't know about Dean."  
  
"Rory, tell me what's happening."  
  
"I did, mom."  
  
She's upset. I'm not confiding and trusting and opening everything up so that she can peek inside of me and clean me up. I've done that all my life. But in one moment, I have no idea how to do that anymore.  
  
"I'm going for a walk." I slip my feet into my sneakers and slide past her as she stands in the doorway. I don't touch her as I pass. 


	3. Wooden Bridges Falling Down

A/N: Usual disclaimer. . . I don't own the wonderful Gilmore Girls or the men in their lives. (But I'll pay a million dollars if someone will let me touch Jess.)  
  
Special Note: Thanks so much for reading my fic and for reviewing it. And to katem-23: thank you for totally "getting" where I am coming from! The same things that annoy you about fanfics annoy me (*a lot*). . . and the same things that keep you going, keep me going, too.  
  
  
  
Chapter 3 - Wooden Bridges Falling Down  
  
I walk with my head tilted all the way back, watching the stars that didn't exist for me this summer in a big city. I don't think about where I'm going, but I go there anyway. As I approach the bridge, I finally lift my head, anxious and yet dreading the sight that I know will greet me.  
  
Jess.  
  
He's there, as I knew he would be. Dangling his feet over the water and reading "Of Mice and Men."  
  
Steinbeck. Things are worse than I thought.  
  
He doesn't look up when I approach, and I stand there watching him, drinking in the sight and smell and feel of him. I am warmer than I've been in two months.  
  
He radiates energy and heat and control and abandon. And anger.  
  
"Hey," is my lame attempt.  
  
He looks up at me, blankly. No emotion, no clues, not even acknowledgement. He looks down at his book.  
  
I begin to panic. I sit down but am too afraid to face him, so I look out over the water instead. My hands begin to shake and I hold onto the wood beneath me to keep them still.  
  
He notices my trembling. Two months ago he would have reached for me, quieted my nervous hands. Tonight he looks at me impassively and keeps his hands to himself.  
  
"What?" he demands.  
  
"What?" I parrot, startled.  
  
He sighs. Impatient. With me. Oh God. "What do you want, Rory? Why are you here?"  
  
"I'm. . . I want. . . I'm here because. . . ." God, his eyes are darker than I remember. Deeper.  
  
He laughs, but it's not a good laugh. "You have no idea what you want. Go."  
  
Go.  
  
At that one word - Go - my insides crumble and my mind screams and my eyes blur. I am struck with the realization that I have only existed for the past two months because of a desperate hope that I would return and he would want me. I pinned my life on a faulty dream. Go. I think I'm going to be sick.  
  
There is nothing in his voice. No affection. No joking. No emotion. No, that's not right. There is emotion. Hate and hurt and anger and bitterness. I can't decide if that's worse than no emotion at all.  
  
Go.  
  
"That's it?"  
  
"What else did you want, Rory? 'Welcome home, and it's great to see you'?"  
  
His anger stirs my own.  
  
"So that's it?" I repeat. "We spent a year getting to know each other and reading together and reading for each other and that's it?"  
  
His book drops. He's itching for a fight. He's been itching for it all summer. He faces me, ready. "I wasn't the one who made it better and then made it worse."  
  
I turn to him, my cheeks burning. This anger feels better than whatever I was feeling before. Or it at least feels easier.  
  
"What the hell does that mean?"  
  
"Kissing me and then running away."  
  
"I'm sorry, Jess - "  
  
"For kissing me?"  
  
I hesitate.  
  
He laughs that awful laugh again. "Christ."  
  
I've been dishonest for so long that it almost hurts to tell the truth. I do it anyway. "No, not for kissing you."  
  
His body stills, but his angry mouth won't stop.  
  
"Right. Which is why you ran as fast as you could, as far as you could, away from me."  
  
"I was confused. I didn't - "  
  
"I have no idea how that must feel. Because when you kissed me and then avoided me for two months, I sure as hell wasn't confused, Rory."  
  
He says my name like he's choking. He used to say it like he was reading aloud from Dickens.  
  
"I'm sorry. I - "  
  
"You said that," he spits, as he stands up. "You got anything else for me?"  
  
I jump up, angry and close to tears because I know he's right. But he's not quite right. And now that I've started telling the truth, after avoiding it for so long, there seems no point in stopping.  
  
"I wanted to talk to you. But I needed to think first."  
  
"You didn't call."  
  
"I know."  
  
"You didn't even write me a goddamned letter."  
  
"I did!"  
  
"No, I'm pretty sure you didn't, Rory."  
  
"Jess, I swear to God that I did. I wrote you, but I didn't - "  
  
"Fuck, Rory! You can't even be honest now? Now, after everything is over and doesn't matter anymore?"  
  
I'm crying and I'm too desperate to be embarrassed. "It's not over, Jess!"  
  
"Yes," he nods his head. "Trust me when I say that it is."  
  
I grab his arm as he brushes past me. "Jess! I kissed you because I'd never been so happy to see someone. I ran because I was confused, guilty. But this summer I analyzed it, thought about it to death, and -- "  
  
"It shouldn't have to be analyzed, Rory. Don't you get that? You either feel it or you don't. This isn't a goddamned test at school, to be studied and critiqued. It's people and your heart and your body, and you either know that it's real or you don't."  
  
"Screw you!"  
  
"Excuse me?" He's genuinely shocked, still feeling high-and-mighty, but also amused by my outburst.  
  
"You heard me! Where the hell do you get off telling me how this is supposed to work? Maybe it's different for me than it is for you. I was confused. I should've talked to you but I was scared. Fucking deal with it."  
  
"I did deal with it, Rory. For two months. On my own. Without a word from you."  
  
"I'm sorry, but I need that time, Jess. I'm not as lucky as you. . . ."  
  
"Lucky?" He whispers the word. But that whisper holds shock and disbelief and a deadly sort of challenge.  
  
"In a way," I answer honestly. "You've had the luxury of deciding for yourself who Jess Mariano is. I've spent 16 years being told who I am."  
  
"By your mother."  
  
I can tell that he doesn't get it. He always knew me before, and now he doesn't get it at all. I'm pissed.  
  
"By mom. My grandparents. This town. I'm sorry if it cut into your plans that I needed some time away to figure out that Rory Gilmore is a little more and a little less than everyone around here thought. But it scared the shit out of me, Jess. And I needed to deal with it."  
  
"Well, congratulations on growing up."  
  
"Dammit, Jess! Was it too much to ask that you give me some space to figure this out?"  
  
His eyes lose their fire and his face calms into a disturbingly tranquil shadow of itself. "No. But you didn't actually ask for space, did you? You just took it. And I didn't know anything. I didn't know how much space you needed. And from what. And why. All I knew was that you were gone. You ran. From me."  
  
His voice breaks on the last word. But he still walks away with his back straight and his hands clenched and his book shoved into his back pocket. If I weren't completely numb, I might feel sorrow or rage, but I only feel dead and alone and sick.  
  
He's right. I'm right, too, but he's more right.  
  
My legs give out and I stumble on the dock. I feel the skin on my knees rip as I land roughly. I barely make it to the side of the bridge before I get sick. 


	4. A Pain to Call My Own

A/N: Wow, you guys! Thank you *so* much for the incredible feedback. I can't even tell you how motivating and inspiring it is! It feels so good to know that people enjoy what I write. Truly - thank you. . . all of you.  
  
Here's Chapter 4. It's really a lead-in to Chapter 5. . . which will contain the Big Confrontation between Rory and Jess. That's when the emotions will fly! In the meantime, here's Chapter 4 - where our beloved Gilmore Girls are struggling to relate to each other.  
  
  
  
Chapter 4 - A Pain To Call My Own  
  
When I walk in the door, I see her sitting tensely on the couch, waiting for me. She hasn't turned on any lights, and the living room is covered in the shadows of twilight and weighted down by our own tension.  
  
I should talk to her. Tell her everything. I would have done that two months ago. But the thing is - for as awful as I feel right now - the pain and the heartache are mine. Maybe talking about it would make me feel better. But it would also make my emotions partly hers. And they're not hers. They're mine. They're horrible and twisted and making me sick, but they're mine.  
  
I head for the stairs.  
  
"Rory."  
  
I stop, my back to her.  
  
"Where did you go?"  
  
"Out."  
  
"Where?"  
  
I sigh and turn around. "There aren't many places to go in Stars Hollow, mom. I didn't knock over a liquor store. I didn't steal any lawn gnomes. Why do you need to know my every move?"  
  
"I'm your friend."  
  
I feel slightly guilty because it's true - she's always been my friend.  
  
"I'm your mother."  
  
The guilt I'm feeling is short-lived once she decides to use the age-old, 'I'm your mother' routine.  
  
"I went out."  
  
"Stop it, Rory! You're different! Why is everything different? Go back to how it was before!"  
  
"I don't want to."  
  
"It was better. Easier."  
  
"But it wasn't real. Or maybe it was real, and it's not anymore. I'm different."  
  
"Damn Jess! This is because of him, isn't it?"  
  
"Partly. But not mostly. Mostly it's because of me. You and I - we've been living this strange fantasy, you know that don't you? At some point, I was going to have to grow up and be a different person from you and - "  
  
"You've always been different from me, Rory. You've always been better and smarter and more responsible and - "  
  
"That's part of me," I acknowledge. "But you and grandma and everyone here in Stars Hollow want that to be all of me. And it's not. I'm more than that."  
  
"You're much more than that."  
  
"And I'm less than that, too."  
  
She's scared. I'm drifting away from her. Towards someone else. She doesn't like it.  
  
"It's because of him," she insists.  
  
"Partly," I repeat.  
  
"You need to stay away from him."  
  
My tears come now. Fast. Hot. "Finally, you and Jess agree on something," I sob. Suddenly determined. "It's really too bad that I'm going to disobey you both."  
  
I run up the stairs, fueled by desperation and inspiration. The combination of longing and anger and fear is suffocating, and makes me feel more alive than I ever have before. I know she's hurting. She feels me separating. Even when I dated Dean, I never had to separate from her.  
  
It's different now. More powerful. Overwhelming.  
  
Jess. I have to see Jess. And make him understand. 


	5. Letters, Lost and Love

A/N: Thank you so very much to all those who reviewed me. I can't tell you how much your words mean to me! They provide encouragement and motivation to keep writing. Thank you!  
  
Disclaimer: GG isn't mine. Rory isn't mine. Luke isn't mine. Stars Hollow isn't mine. And if Jess were mine, do you honestly think that I'd be sitting here writing a fanfic?! (  
  
  
  
  
  
Chapter 5 - Letters, Lost and Love  
  
I race into the diner, and in my haste, through the tears gathering in my eyes, I almost miss Luke looking up from behind the counter and frowning with concern.  
  
"Rory, what. . . ."  
  
I run up the stairs without answering. Feeling horrible for ignoring one of the only men who really ever gave a damn about me, but with a need to see Jess so strong inside of me that I think I might collapse from the weight of it if I slow down. Or think. Or breathe. Or do anything that might break the fragility of this moment. I am barely hanging on to sanity, and any movement - any thought, any breath - might make me let go and fall away from reason.  
  
I fling open the door to the apartment and stumble inside. It is cool and dark. Jess looks up from his book. Expressionless. Of course.  
  
"I did write," I manage, only slightly incoherently.  
  
"What?"  
  
"I did write. You said that I didn't write you. But I did."  
  
"Interesting. Because I didn't receive any letters." His voice is cold. But his eyes are. . . cool. Not hot for me, not warm with affection. . . but not as bitter cold as his voice. Not yet. There is time.  
  
The tears come in earnest this time.  
  
I want to kiss him, I suddenly realize. Or I want him to kiss me. I'm not sure which. I'm not sure it matters. All I know is that to get from standing here to being in his arms, I have to make him understand. I am desperate to make him understand. I am desperate in my need. Desperate as a disjointed explanation finally finds its way out of me.  
  
"I did! I did, Jess."  
  
He looks at me disbelievingly. His disbelief, his distrust - those are worse to bear than his indifference. His indifference is studied, rehearsed. His distrust is raw and true.  
  
I am losing. Him. My mind. I can't find the words. For once in my life - for the first time it ever really matters - I can't find the words.  
  
Sobbing, desperate, I finally remember the box, crushed under my arm. I fling it towards him - the sooner he sees, the sooner he'll stop hating me. Or at least start hating me for the right reasons.  
  
He looks at the box calculatingly.  
  
"Shoes?" His tone struggles for blasé. But his voice strains. And for a moment his eyes plead with me to make him believe again. Trust again.  
  
I rip off the top of the box and step close enough to him to feel his heat. "Letters," I whisper urgently. "Forty three of them. Every one to you. A few only half written, but most of them finished. Finished, Jess. Never sent, but finished." I sob but my voice grows stronger. Last ditch effort. "While I was in Washington. Dean wrote me every other day. I never wrote him. I wrote you. Constantly. Everything that I'll never have the nerve to tell you to your face."  
  
His hand reaches for the box and digs into the pile. He opens one, recognizes my writing. His eyes flicker. He opens another. Another. Another. He reads a few lines, glances at me, finds another letter, reads a few lines. More quickly, he sifts through the contents of the box, dropping paper around him in his increasing haste. His eyes warm and his mouth relaxes. I begin to breathe.  
  
"You should have sent them." But it isn't an accusation. His fingers close around mine where they have remained, clutching the box like a lifeline.  
  
"I was terrified."  
  
"Of me." He's hurt by that and I want to hug him for it.  
  
"Of you. Of me. Of not loving Dean the way I was supposed to. Of not being the 'Rory Gilmore' that everyone in Stars Hollow has raised me to be. But mostly of. . . . how you. . . ."  
  
"What do I do?" Concern. Oh, thank God. Concern in his voice.  
  
"You make it. . . ."  
  
What could I say to make him understand? That he fills a room so that I can't breathe, don't want to breathe when he's near me? That I don't know whether I'm separate from him because when he touches me my heart adopts his rhythm and my skin yearns for his and my hands ache to touch him? And that I don't care whether I'm separate from him? "As soon as you look at me, it's like I'm. . . ."  
  
"Drowning."  
  
My head snaps up at his matter-of-fact statement.  
  
"Yes," I nod. "You surround me and use up my air and I'm lost. I can't see or breathe or think or stand. And I don't care because you're there - you're everywhere, touching me even if you're across the room. And all I want to do is drown in you."  
  
He's kissing me. Hard and desperate. The box has fallen and his fingers are in my hair and I don't know which one of us is breathing and which one of us is crying.  
  
"I'm sorry," I sob. "I'm sorry, but I need you, and I didn't know."  
  
He shakes his head - to say that this separation is over and of no consequence anymore.  
  
"I'm sorry for Shane." He can't meet my eyes as he says it. He knows I feel cheated on, even though I don't have the right. And he feels guilty for it, because whether or not we were even speaking to each other when he dated Shane, we were still together and it was still cheating. "I tried. . . with her. . . I tried to get back at you. Get over you. I shouldn't have done it that way."  
  
Now I shake my head. "Just please, when we lose each other again, don't try to find me through some other girl's lips."  
  
Jess grins against my mouth and tugs at my lower lip with his teeth. I shiver. He smirks. He's too arrogant in his knowledge that he can make me quiver this way. But the arrogance is warranted, so I don't care.  
  
I'm lost. In his eyes. In his kisses. In his hands.  
  
Oh God, his hands. They create unspeakable black magic.  
  
I'm lost.  
  
Is this what it is, then? Is this what it is, to fall in love? To be lost and found at the same time. To fall hopelessly, uncertainly. But also to know, without a doubt, that I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be.  
  
In his arms. 


End file.
